Air of Swirls

a poem of inspiration from old notes and writings. A poem about the art of smoke the abyss and nothing in between.

this poem is but that

a writing i prefer

to tell you all a tale

with much to the imagination and little

to thought

it all starts with the end and ends 

before we start so be sure to hold on tight

we  do  not want to part

standing tall or rather sitting

i type and miss type and continue on living

my words dance  a tap dance of all sorts

up down around and around 

this high has left me mellow and calm

smoke filters through the air

each exhale 

a swirl

a dance all its own

watch it leap and bound and then turn around 

it is nothing more than amusement 

you see

for we all love to be amused 

by sparkly things

however let me leave you with this

its dark and alone 

that's why they call it the abyss

a place i once will visit

come back from i'm not so sure

but this place is special  it is pure

hold my hand let me guide you there

careful not to turn back 

its tempting i know

our journey is here on verge of beginning

hold on no longer its time to go

the darkness sprays us with the mist of the sea

the clouds consume all our misery

coldness settles in but there is warmth underneath

hide under these covers

the pages are bleak